


keep your head down; keep your hands where i can see them

by Princex_N



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: ADHD Bill and Ted, Angst, Autism, Autistic Ted "Theodore" Logan, Bad Parenting, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Meltdown, Overstimulation, Sensory Overload, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: No one else ever could tell when the tsunami was gonna come but Bill always has. Ted used to call it magic, how Bill always knew what was wrong and how to fix it, the two of them synced up tight in Excellent harmony no matter what.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan & Bill S. Preston Esq., Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	keep your head down; keep your hands where i can see them

**Author's Note:**

> title from [OK Go's song 'another set of issues'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wnaz-JhKRSM)

The day doesn't start right, and Ted knows from that moment on that the rest of the day isn't gonna be much better. 

He wakes up alright, still kind of tired, but not feeling too rough. One of those days where the best way to spend it would be to stay exactly where he is and not move at all. Stay curled up and safe under all the blankets and pillows he's got, and only _maybe_ take a risk to put some music on underneath it all. 

The fact that he knows he's not gonna get a chance to do any of that _does_ bum him out quite a bit though. 

He stays there for a little while longer anyway, breathing deep and deliberate while he smooths his fingers over one of the blankets and presses his face further into the soft pressure of his pillow. It's almost tranquil enough to soothe the vague edge of nerves he'd woken up with. 

Then his dad walks by and bangs on the door a bunch, and Ted can already tell that the whole day is lost right then and there. Flat palm striking the wood and voice raised to yell about Ted being late reflecting poorly on him, even though Ted's alarm hasn't even gone _off_ yet, and Ted flinches at the onslaught of noise and muffles the whine in his throat before his dad can hear it. 

Things just seem to go downhill from there. 

Ted takes too long trying to find clothes to wear, because everything he puts on makes him want to puke the second it settles against his skin; it doesn't look right, doesn't feel right, _isn't_ right. He keeps on trying, but it persists, and eventually Ted winds up having to spend even _longer_ hunched over in a ball on the floor trying to calm himself down because the stress of trying to make a decision winds up overwhelming him. 

Then after that, Ted's gotta leave without eating because he doesn't have the time, 'cause he wasted it all messing around with his clothes, and he tries to tell himself that maybe the running he has to do to compensate will help burn off the unholy energy building up in his limbs, but all it does is make him sweaty, which makes the clothes he'd _finally_ found to wear just as worse as the first ones he'd tried. 

Real fucking bogus. 

He does manage to make it to class right before the late bell rings though, which is good. But then he gets yelled at for putting his head down when he's just trying to block out the lights on the ceiling that are burning his eyes, which isn't. The day has barely started and Ted's already _tired_ , exhausted all the way down to his bones. He'd want to go home if that place was any better. 

Bill's in his next class though, and the desks are small enough that Ted can just lean forward to rest his head on the back of Bill's shoulder, and that helps a bit. 

"You doing okay, Ted?" Bill asks, tilting his head to bonk it against Ted's real quick and gentle, which makes Ted huff a little laugh. 

"Mostly I guess," he replies, because that's gotta be true, right? Ted made it out of bed and did manage to find some clothes, managed to make it through the morning without getting yelled at too bad because his dad had already left by the time Ted made it out of his room, and then made it to class on time, so that's gotta be the stuff that counts, right? 

He's not sure how sure he sounds about it though, because Bill just makes a little hum in his throat, and Ted's whole head shifts up and down when Bill shrugs. But then he just starts talking about a show he'd seen last night instead of asking any more questions, and Ted just listens and lets the cadence of the words wash over him without having to worry about stringing any more answers together on his own.

Ted doesn't really understand most of what Bill's saying, but he doesn't mind too much. Bill's voice rings like music in Ted's ears, and he thinks he could listen to it forever if he could. 

But of course he can't. 

The teacher comes back when the bell rings and he immediately tells Bill to stop talking and Ted to sit up straight. Ted knows he's just doing his job but he still kind of hates it, gritting his teeth and turning to stare out of the window instead of at the front where he'd walking. He tries to tune his voice out, just focus on tracing the branches of the trees outside with his eyes and keep all the sharp edges growing in his chest inside of him where they can't hurt anyone else. 

It's been a while since Ted has really felt like this, but that doesn't mean it's not still familiar. He doesn't have any useful words to describe what's wrong with him when it happens, he's only got the words other people use when they catch him at it. 

Words like "stupid", "tantrum", "childish", "annoying", "loud", "selfish", "retarded" and "pathetic" and "attention seeking" and "crazy". 

Ted hates these feelings, but he might hate all those words more. That's why he's got to keep it all together, make sure that no one else can tell that something's wrong and that no one can see that Ted's suffering. The thing about other people noticing is that they can never just keep it to themselves, they talk about it, and they tell Ted's _dad_ about it, and that's the real problem. Ted _doesn't_ like it when other people talk about him, and he likes it when they talk to his dad about him even less. 

So Ted makes sure that no one notices him flinching at the bell ringing, the way the teacher's chalk against the board grinds like nails into his ears, the way his clothes brush unsettlingly against his skin, the way every passing second hurts worse and worse and makes the ache in his chest grow bigger and bigger. 

He counts down the remaining hours by seconds and spends so much time trying to stay quiet and reassure himself that he's fine, that by the time class is out for good and it's just Bill around, Ted's head and mouth feel full of rocks and marbles and there's not enough space for Ted to know what to do when Bill furrows his eyebrows and says, "You alright, man? You've seemed _most_ unsettled all day." 

See, Ted's not a good liar when you're just asking him questions, he's only good at pretending so that no one thinks to ask anything in the first place. Bill's pretty much the only safe person to answer questions to in the first place, but Ted _can't_ answer him now, not here. No matter how much he wants to. It doesn't feel good, nothing does right now, but as long as it _works_ Ted has something to hold onto. 

But...

But something awful is coming. Ted can tell. Something big and scary and non-non- _non_ righteous growing right inside of Ted's skeleton and threatening to swallow him whole, and all Ted can do is grit his teeth against it and keep holding it off for as long as he can. Delay the moment where it hits him all at once for as long as possible. 

And Bill is looking at him like maybe he knows all about it. No one else ever could tell when the tsunami was gonna come but Bill _always_ has. Ted used to call it magic, how Bill always knew what was wrong and how to fix it, the two of them synced up tight in Excellent harmony no matter what. 

But this isn't a quick fix job, and Bill's look of alarmed concern only makes Ted feel that much closer to letting go, and he doesn't _want_ to. Not when they're still on campus, with people all around, people who wouldn't hesitate to tell his dad if they caught him being weird in public, who wouldn't hesitate to _call_ his dad as a _cop_ if they caught him being too 'disturbing'. And Ted knows that not even Bill's magic is gonna be able to make this place any safer any time soon. 

So Ted makes his mouth open to say "See you later, duder," before Bill's can ask if he's okay again and make the floodgates open, and then Ted runs and doesn't look back even when Bill calls his name, not even though he wants to. 

He wants to believe that getting home means getting safe, that he can go and hide and keep it all together so that his dad won't notice anything when he gets home, and tomorrow he could go back to school totally fine and Bill won't have to worry about him anymore. But Ted doesn't think home has been really safe for a good few years now, and any plan to hide until he's better gets totally ruined the moment he notices his dad's car already out front, home from work early. The man always does seem to have the most impeccably inconvenient timing. 

Ted hesitates on the sidewalk. He doesn't want to go in there, not really. His dad being home early rarely means anything good, and Ted can never seem to deal with that even on the best of days. 

But staying out here isn't really any better, is it? Ted can't tell anymore. He forces his feet to keep moving anyway.

Sure enough, his dad is on him the moment Ted steps through the door, and Ted tries hard not to cower under the weight of his unblinking stare or the volume of his voice. There are rules he's gotta follow when his dad is around, but all the self-control Ted usually saves up for these moments is long gone by now; there's nothing left for him to lean back on. 

So Captain Logan's yelling and Ted doesn't even get why. Something about paperwork he'd brought home that isn't where it's supposed to be, and Ted spends so much time wondering what that's got to do with him that he almost doesn't realize that his dad thinks he'd taken it. What would he even _do_ with it?? 

Some of the confusion must show on his face, because his dad's expression twists in disgust or anger, or both, and he grabs at the front of Ted's shirt just firm enough to shake him a little. Ted hates it, he _hates_ it, he hates _this_ , the way his dad always treats him like shit, like a criminal, using words like "retard" and "faggot" _just_ because he knows how much Ted hates them. _Hates_ the way his dad always talks like he knows who Ted is and how Ted thinks, when Ted has known for years that his dad doesn't actually have a clue. He feels his teeth bare like an animal's, growling because there aren't any words left for him to use to just _ask_ his dad to let him go, to ask him to stop. 

It only really serves to piss his dad off more, though asking with actual words probably would have gotten him the same reaction. His shouts are still basically nothing but garbled nonsense in Ted's ears, but he doesn't need to understand them to know that his dad's angry as hell even though Ted still doesn't even understand what he _did_. It takes everything in him to not push himself back away from where his dad's leaning in close to spit and curse in Ted's face. 

Ted's known that his dad has probably hated him for years. Right now is one of the few times Ted lets himself hate him right back. 

His dad winds up being the one to shove Ted instead, a noise of disgust ringing in Ted's ears as the stretched loose fabric of his collar settles uncomfortably against his skin, the sight of it turning Ted's stomach. He almost falls down when he gets pushed back in the direction of his room, but manages to stay on his feet almost barely. He runs to the sanctuary before his dad gets a chance to realize he's offered refuge and change his mind, and doesn't slam the door behind him. 

(He's not sure if it's because it would only bring his dad running in anger or because the noise would only wind up hurting Ted himself. In the long run, they're basically the same thing though, aren't they?) 

He locks the door, even though he knows that'll only rile his dad up more too, but only really if he notices it in the first place, and sheds the stiff and distorted shirt that had almost been a comfort to finally find this morning. He crawls into bed, curling under blankets and pillows and staying as still as he can, caught up in the childish need to hide from both his dad and the torrent of feelings raging in his own chest. 

Ted's held it together this long, mostly. He has, and he wants to believe it when he thinks that maybe it'll be okay if he just keeps pretending to ignore it, but he barely even lays in the bed for five minutes before the most blasphemous static in his head finally overwhelms him like it's been trying to all day. 

He scrambles up sitting, shoving blankets off of him in an attempt to _breathe_ that doesn't help at all. It's all boiled over into an itch under his whole skin that all the scratching in the world can't get at. In fact, the scraping of his nails over his skin only serves to make it worse. 

But he rocks and rocks and hates the wet spread of tears over his cheeks. He tries to lose himself in the movements, in the slipping of his bare feet back and forth over the sheets, the gentle creak of the mattress beneath him, and the clack of his teeth every time he winds up accidentally bashing his forehead off of his knees. It helps, but not enough.

There's a howl brewing in Ted's chest. Wails and little kid cries rising in his throat, and with the very last of his self-control Ted swallows them back, because he can't risk behind heard or seen, he just can't. It's like there's a crack opening up in his chest, in his head, and the thought of someone else ( _especially_ his dad, _especially_ when his dad's already pissed at him) seeing the gaping vulnerability only makes him feel unbelievably worse. 

Ted nearly doesn't notice when his hands unwind from around his knees just to pound furiously on his legs, the inside of his wrists thudding angrily off his shins, but the way he almost winds up sobbing in frustration at how the blows can't reach deep enough pulls him out of it. He knows he shouldn't hit himself, that it makes him look stupid and childish and that it's supposed to be bad for him, but Ted could nearly _scream_ at the feeling in his body and the strain of keeping quiet has him lashing out twice as hard. 

Fatigue stops him before anything else does, the ache of the muscles in his arms making him wind things down more than anything, until he's breathing harshly into his hands, the ache of all the blows only _finally_ settling into his nerves. But some part of him still aches like it needs something, and even after all these years Ted can't quite figure out what to give it. 

He flops onto his side, scrubbing at the angry tears on his face with the pillowcase as he fumbles to dig out the dumb little toy rabbit Bill won him at a carnival once, his teeth digging into the fabric of its ear, only marginally soothed by the knowledge that Bill would be happier with this than if Ted’s teeth found their way into the meat of his arm like they want to.

(Ted keeps the bunny pressed into the crevice where his bed meets the wall under his pillow, carefully tucked away where his dad won’t ever find it, because he’d taken it before and was gonna throw it away if Ted hadn’t sneaked to save it. He calls it Funnel Cake, there’s a stain on its back from the snack that he’d shared with Bill the same day they’d gotten it, and its little black eyes look up at him. For some reason it all makes his chest convulse around a sob.)

It's a most pitiful consolation, but it's all Ted's got right now, and he's used to making do with not enough. 

Time passes like that, and Ted has no clue how much. He's just _stuck_ , grinding his teeth, shifting uncomfortably, unable to quell the flow of tears that seem to have no end in sight. He's not even sure if he actually feels _sad,_ or hurt, or whatever else. There's maybe not even a name for what he feels right now, all he can call it is unfair and bogus. 

Then Bill wiggles his way in through the window and Ted's whole body just feels like it crumples in on itself at the sight of him. 

"Aw, Ted," Bill says, shutting the window behind him and creeping closer. Through blurry eyes, Ted can see him hesitate only long enough to glance at the door's lock before shuffling into the bed alongside Ted, pulling Ted close to his body and not even minding at all that Ted's not wearing a shirt or that his idiot damp face is getting pressed into Bill's perfectly nice one. 

Ted feels like he should explain, knows that that's the normal person way to do it when you're upset and someone is trying to comfort you, but all of the everything has crowded all the words right out of Ted's head, and he doesn't know what he'd say even if his mouth _didn't_ feel fused shut. 

Bill doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't ask or try to get Ted to look at him. Judging by the way he's got his chin hooked over Ted's head, he's not even looking at Ted in the first place. 

Ted can't tell if that's what finally loosens the knot in his soul, or if it's the tight pressure of Bill's arms around him in the most resplendent hug, or if it's the softness of his worn t-shirt against Ted's overheated face, or maybe just the quiet way he's humming a familiar song under his breath. 

Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's just Bill. _Bill_ and that magic inside of him that rears its head whenever Ted seems to need it. 

So Ted curls closer and works up all the energy he's got left to stop crying just long enough to finally manage to ask, "Stay?". It comes out twisted in Ted's mouth and muffled into Bill's chest, but Bill doesn't even hesitate to nod, pulling Ted in closer when that just makes him start crying all over again. 

"Of course, dude," Bill says, like it's simple, like it's easy, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "'Course I'll stay, Ted." 

And Ted doesn't hold much weight in promises most of the time, not from other people, but Bill's always been different. Always been exceptional. Bill promises that he'll stay and promises that he'll help take care of Ted the way he's _always_ helping take care of Ted, and Ted believes him. And it's simple, and it's easy, and it's the easiest thing in the world to believe Bill, because it's _Bill_ and it's Ted and it's the two of them together. And it's the only thing Ted needs right now, the only thing he'll _ever_ need. 

**Author's Note:**

> hh, should probably be working on homework,, fortunately for all of y'all who like my writing, i'm writing bill and ted fanfic to process my own batshit emotions instead <3
> 
> [my tumblr](https://princex-n.tumblr.com/)


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